Images of Red and Death
by CrisisExceed
Summary: Major OOC oneshot The story of one teen's selfdestruction.


Disclaimer: No character is mine.

Warning: If you start crying…stop reading. Ths rated for mild language, and massive talks of blood and sucide. You have been warned.

Images of Red and Death

* * *

His image stuck in my mind. It makes me angry. But do I really have the right to force my anger on anyone else? No…I don't so my anger stays within me. But I now realize that it's destroying me and it won't be long until I die.

I remember being pulled out of the bathtub. I had filled it with warm water to make sure that I wouldn't stop bleeding. My blood painted the water crimson and fast action of being pulled out of the water caused a sting of pain from my open wound. I was told that the number of scars on have doubled on me in the past year than on anyone ever before. Yeah…I was destroying myself.

"Are you crazy!" he shouted. It was him who had pulled me out of the bathtub. I guess he was disappointed in me. As a result I drew my red eyes away from his blue ones. "Are you even listening to me?" he asked.

I stood up "Whatever." I spat back and walked into my bedroom. I examined my surroundings. Various posters of rock artists covered my walls. Then there was a small spot of red on the wall closest to my door. It's pretty obvious that that's my blood. I so mad that I punched the wall ungloved.

Another failed attempt. I just want my pain to end. I notice in school as I write my work it's turning nothing more than chicken scratch. Was I going insane? I think I might be. All become of some image? No…it was more than that. His evil laugh, his evil smile, just the sound of his voice would not leave my mind. But the worst of all is when I look in the mirror, I don't see me I see him. This erupted my anger even more.

That night I look at the piece of broken glass that sits on my side table next to my bed. Did it take you long? Yeah…my blood was on it too. I picked up that red piece of glass in my right and slowly brought it across my bicep. I halted my breath at the sting of the pain, but I was used to it by now. After all my body was covered in scars from all the times I have cut myself in the past three years. Why have I been doing it? I want to drain myself of all his blood, the blood of a heartless monster.

I filled the bathtub with hot water again. Before I stepped inside I brought the piece of glass across my torso. I watched as the water turned red again. My blood loss caused me to fall unconscious.

I awoke several hours later on my living room couch. I looked at where I had cut myself bandages covered my wounds. I examined my surroundings again and saw that my red piece of glass was sitting on the living room coffee table.

"Do you think ending your life's going to solve anything?" asked a familiar voice.

I turned over so my back was facing him. "Why do you care?" I responded.

"If you end your life think of the people who would miss you."

"No one would."

"I would."

"Doubt it."

I got up and tried to pick up my piece of glass. He put his hand on mine and shook his head no. Was he concerned for me? Who was he again? I had felt the memory of this man fade away from me for the last three years. That was around the time I started destroying myself. I'm prepared for death but for some reason during the first year I couldn't bring myself to cut where it mattered most. Now I just lie in the bathtub filled with hot water hoping I'd bleed to death.

My friends at school have tried to help me but they don't know how to be in a situation where your dead father was once a crime lord of Southtown. It's his image that plays over and over in my head and won't leave. It's him is why my self-destruction is intimate. Do I fear death? If he is than yes. He is my fear, he is my death, h is my hate, he is my father. He is Geese Howard. But I've wondered did I want to die because I wanted to see him? That could have been possible.

That afternoon I stand in front of his grave. I took off my jacket and shirt and showed my scars. I hope he knows what he's been doing to me. The scars on both my arms and my torso, I showed him all my scars. My tears filled my eyes as I began to wonder: How could someone even in death torment me so? I took the piece of glass out of my pocket and cut myself down my left forearm. "This is what you've been doing to me, are you happy?" Was he happy? To destroy myself was the only way to find out.

I didn't return home until late again. Alcohol poisoned my systems and my senses way off. To sum it up I was drunk. Maybe if I can't bleed to death maybe I can drink till I die. But I'm still here; my friends were there to stop me. They knew I was destroying myself since the beginning. At every moment they got they tried to stop me. But I'd just tune them out and do my own thing. It's not stopping them from trying…so why am I giving up? They didn't have my problem, so they didn't know what I was going through.

I wash my blood-soiled hands in my bathroom sink. Watching the crimson water just fall down the drain reminded me how my life was going. I looked up into the mirror to see of he was there again. The only thing I saw was the man who adopted me. He sighed at me and wrapped his arms around me and clenched tight. Why was he doing this? Did his "parent mode" kick in? No, he had been doing that a lot when he found my scars. Why didn't he say anything? He's always been someone who speaks with his actions more than his words. But then again his recent actions confused me. Love? Concern? Parent? Who was this man? Why was he holding me like a parent being concerned for his child? Was I his child? I heard him softly, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I asked.

"For not seeing it sooner. I've been at this job for more than a decade now and I couldn't see the pain you're in."

Pain huh? I've never been so confused. Confusion…that just made me want to die more. To end the suffering of confusion. When he had let me go I reached for my piece of glass but when I checked my pockets it was gone Shit…he took it. I walked into the living room and found him. "Where is it!" I shouted.

"As a parent, I can't let you do that." He explained.

"Just as a parent."

"I understand I messed up. But give me a chance to set things right. I've been a terrible father."

I ended this argument by walking into my room. I leaned against the wall and placed my hands on my forehead. My back slid down the wall tears building up in my eyes and slowly falling down my cheeks. He wasn't a bad father…I was a broken down emotional heap. He had nothing to do with my self-destruction. Soon it became obvious that I was crying. The sounds I made it obvious. I wanted it to end. I wanted to stop crying myself to sleep. My life has gone down the drain. It won't be long until I die.

My lack of sleep caught up to me at school the next morning. But it didn't matter another test failed because all my writing is illegible. I walked into the bathroom and looked if anyone was in there. No one was. I searched for my pockets for my piece of glass; I forgot…Terry took it away. I started to tremble. I needed to cut myself. It as a routine that was common for the last three years and it wasn't about to stop now. I looked in the mirror and saw my fear again. It now became clear to me, I was insane. But now that my piece of glass was gone I needed to find another way to end my life. I punched and shattered the mirror. I picked a piece of the now broken mirror. I brought it from the top of my wrist to the middle of my bicep. I made it so my wound wouldn't close. Eventually the blood loss caused me to lose consciousness. The last ting I remember as the side of my head hitting the sink.

I awoke in the nurse's office with more bandages over my wounds. My shirt was off and my scars exposed. Shit…my secret was out. I sat up and looked at the school nurse. She gave me a look of disappointment. Apparently I wasn't the first case. I looked down and avoided anymore eye contact. She ended our silent conversation with, "Your father is on his way." Damn it…she called Terry. If I can't push off my friends I defiantly wouldn't be able to push off him. This was the same man I couldn't remember.

Terry took me home. I think he started to question myself: Where did I go wrong? I got that vibe from him. He didn't do anything wrong, it's me. But I couldn't just tell him I was insane, he wouldn't believe me. We'd argue about the statement like we've been doing for the past three months. Then he'd just tell me that it's just an excuse to explain why my grades were slipping. But then again I didn't have the heart to tell him what was going on all together. Was I just supposed to go up to him and tell him that I had an image of a dead man in my head? Was it him I feared most? Was that why I was ready to die? I wanted my fear to end. Seeing has never made me this scared before.

I look upon my scars from my bathroom mirror. As I looked I started to wonder: What was I doing to myself? Not that I care. But I saw that my scars were starting to increase in size. As I continue to look at myself I eye the scar that started a long line of them. It was a scar that went straight across my chest. It's been so long I forgot how I got that scar. It was because of that scar was why I started breaking down. Was it because it made me look like him? I brought myself closer to the mirror. I found myself looking at him again. I quickly turned around and found tears in my eyes. Damn it…I was crying again. I hate it when I cry. I started trembling again. I needed to drain me of some more blood. The feeling I was having was fear. I needed to bleed. My emotions caught up to me and caused my breathing to speed up and eventually I passed out once more. My head hit the sink again only harder this time.

I woke up to the touch of someone's hand on my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw blue ones staring at me. My head was throbbing with pain and he just smiled. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly shut it. I sighed instead. I opened my mouth again and let out, "Who are you again?" His smile didn't fade. He put a damp, warm towel on my forehead. I had a memory flash of this man. Apparently I've known this man since my childhood. But now I wonder what he was doing. I searched my memories once more. Father? I questioned the memory. This man, Terry, was he concerned for me? But why?

"Are you OK? You hit your head pretty hard, twice." He told me. He knew who I was, but why couldn't remember him.

I searched my memories once more. According to this one; he adopted me as a child. I fell asleep and I told myself I wouldn't wake up until I fully remembered this man. I was in for a long sleep.

I had another memory. It turns out this man, Terry, and myself have been traveling together. He's been teaching me the ways of fighting and life lessons you wouldn't learn in an every day normal life. What? I have a memory of three years ago. It was the first time I had cut myself. I watched this memory. I watched my blood hit the floor, but that man he tried his best to stop me. I've been doing it behind his back ever since. I've now come to realize that he didn't fade away from me; I faded away from him. I finally remembered his entire name, Terry Bogard. This was the man who had given me a life; a life I was ready to take away. He didn't deserve a son like me; he deserved a better one. I began to hate myself, and soon I would take my life for the better.

I woke up the several hours later and found myself in the same spot from when I fell asleep. I felt my memories come back to me and I began to wonder again: What was this pain I'm feeling. Was I in so much pain because I can only remember the bad memories of my life clearly? My good memories were such a blur I couldn't get them straight. I wanted my pain to end badly. I looked everywhere for it. I wanted my piece of glass. I couldn't find it. My anger built up again. For what? All because I wanted to see my blood? It finally became clear to me. I wasn't going insane…I already was. My fear of death no longer existed and the emotions that kept me sane were not there anymore. There was nothing there anymore except for pain. Lots and lots pf pain. It's what my being was now and if I didn't want to force it on anyone else I had to end it, by ending my life. The next morning I marked the date in my head: today's the day I die.

I went to school and said good-bye to all my friends. They asked me where I was going. I told them I was going away. I wrote a letter to Terry, explaining my gratefulness. I went into the bathroom and shattered the mirror that I would stare at hours upon end. I placed three things on the living room coffee table. I placed my jacket, the hat he gave me, and the letter addressed to him. I picked up the piece of the mirror I shattered and held it at my throat. Tears poured out of my eyes like rivers flowing down a mountain. The life I lived in this world was a good one but now I will be bound for another one where I will live in eternal peace. I said my final good byes to this world and quickly brought the broken mirror peace across my throat.

As my body aimed for the floor I'd felt my consciousness fade completely away and my life flash before my eyes. Now my body lies on the floor cold and lifeless…I was dead. My nightmares, my pain, my life ended all at one moment. I share my apologies with everyone I knew and cared about.

* * *

Grey clouds and pouring rain filled the skies as I stare at the name on the headstone. I couldn't believe it. That was my son's name on it. I would no longer be able to see his smile, his laugh, and his happiness. I felt my fighting spirit gone as I clenched the letter he left me in my hand. The words still clearly in my head.

Dear Dad,

Yeah…I wish I had called you that sooner. Anyway if you're reading this that means I'm already dead. Anyway I thank you for all the happiness and memories we've shared. But now I'm gone and you have a chance to start a new life. I'm sorry if I hurt you and now I'll be keeping watch from a different place. I was never given the chance to say this and now I will say it for I will never gat a chance ever again. I say this with all the love a son could show to his dad…I love you and I always will.

Your son,

Rock

Did he really consider me his father? If yes, why didn't he tell me sooner? I tried to hold back my tears but failed. His voice playing over and over in my head wouldn't leave and I didn't want it to.

I read his gravestone in my head. "Here lies Rock Howard, the kind white wolf of the pack and a loving son who will never be forgotten in the hearts of many. Long live the spirit of the wings." As I read the last sentence of the gravestone I image Rock doing his signature stance. It was the one where he turns around and using his flames he creates angel wings. He said no one would miss him, but that's not true. I do and so does my brother and everyone else who ever cared about him. Everyone had left except for Andy and myself. He was apart of our broken family and he was gone now. We were now more broken without him, especially me.

I asked myself: What more do I have left to fight for now that m son was gone? How do I live in a world without my son? I constantly asked myself those questions over and over. My brother, Andy, put his hand on my shoulder. "Dad's spirit isn't the only one we have to carry now. I'll miss him too it's time to go." He turned around and started walking, I followed. He slung his arm over my shoulder. I've come to realize that it was it was just the two of us again. We were now more than just carrying the spirit of our father we were now carrying the spirit of my son as well. I will miss him every day, but I know it will get easier.

I love you too my son and one or anything will replace that emotion in my heart.

End

I don't know why I wrote this I just did. Anyway I hoped you liked it. Axel the Flame Emperor


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